


Impact

by brightlikeloulou



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-War, Amnesia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:07:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27643210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightlikeloulou/pseuds/brightlikeloulou
Summary: It would be just Obi-Wan’s luck that he manages to crash land on an absolute dust ball of a planet, in the middle of the desert. After spending days injured, with no memory of who he is further than his name and his ability to use the force, he fades into an exhausted sleep, convinced he will die. When he awakes, he’s been found and cared for by slave Anakin Skywalker.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 18
Kudos: 125





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my fic,  
> *** General warning - Anakin is a slave under Jabba, often acting as a pleasure slave. This comes with mention of themes such as rape/non-con & dub-con. Though nothing will be explicit, please don't read if you'll be uncomfortable.

The ship meets the ground with a deafening crash and an explosion of smoke and sand, disrupting the desolate quiet of the Tatooine desert. Transparisteel shatters, metal caves in, the ship collapses everywhere around him.

In the seconds before impact, having braced himself after his attempts to right the landing failed, Obi-Wan had enough time to think, _this is going to be bad_ before the ship connected with Tatooine and Obi-Wan was slammed against the controls of the ship, immediately knocked into unconsciousness. 

* * *

As his eyes flicker open, struggling against a glaring light shining directly into his eyes, he quickly becomes aware that he is in a vast amount of pain, varying levels of it throughout his body, and a weak groan slips from his lips. He finds that he’s laying down, and shifting to sit up is a great task, the bottom of his spine to his neck screaming in pain while his head feels like it will explode. 

Holding up a hand to shield against the light, he glances around his surroundings, finding he’s in what can only be described as the remainder of a ship. The ship is near destroyed, its construction compromised, and his eyes follow the sound of sparks to a control board just below a smashed-in window which is the light source that near blinds him. 

He decides to try standing, clutching at the indents in the wall beside him, only becoming aware of the injury in his left ankle when he puts pressure on it, crying out as it collapses beneath his weight and he almost falls. 

“Force,” he whispers, the phrase foreign but familiar on his tongue as he staggers to the pilot chair, which seems to be intact. As he sits down, he gasps at the pain that's starting to overwhelm him; he can't isolate it. It's as if it attacks every muscle, every bone, trying to end him.

After a moment, he decides to try and inspect his ankle to see why it was the source of such intense pain; he finds it so severely swollen beneath his boot that he's unable to pull it off. Instead, he grips at the sparking control panels and tries to steady his pained breathing, the deep gasping breaths causing needle-like pain in his ribs. He looks out the caved in window and sees nothing but a broad expanse of sand dunes. 

_Where am I? How did I get here?_

He swallows down the sense of dread rising in his throat and closes his eyes, focusing on calming down his breathing. Within a few minutes he has tuned out the hum of the broken-down ship, the sparking of the controls, his throbbing pain and instead focuses on the serene energy that’s filling his senses; it wraps around him like a blanket, calming him and soothing at his pains. He suddenly recognises it as the Force. He’s enveloped in that soothing blanket for just a few more minutes before the pain overwhelms his focus and it fades away from him. 

He opens his eyes and once again blinks against the sun, at the endless expanse of sand. 

“My name is Obi-Wan,” he murmurs, his cracked, dry lips sticking to one another and his voice scratchy due to his dry mouth and throat. 

He finds that he cannot remember anything about himself beyond his name. 

* * *

Anakin cannot stop the relief that fills him as his small home appears once he reaches the top of the sand dune. It had been a long week of major pod races that had brought more people than usual to Tatooine, therefore raising Jabba’s clientele. Many of those that traveled to Tatooine liked to take advantage of its legal slavery and Crime Lord Jabba the Hutt’s vast expanse of pleasure slaves. Jabba ran the pod races, probably a front for illegal smuggling, but nevertheless, all his workers, including Anakin who usually worked out of his home, were stationed across various areas of Mos Espa; the palace to entertain his important guests, the brothels in town and the Grand Arena itself. 

Anakin had been at the pod races by day and the palace of a night. He’d been lucky with the palace; it was often perceived as the best place to be, often causing arguments and bribery among the slaves for their stations. Only the most beautiful slaves were allowed at the palace, and when not with clients, they were spoiled in its luxury. Anakin didn’t mind the Grand Arena either, though many hated the stuffy viewing rooms and an often lack of privacy, but Anakin loved pod racing and enjoyed the snippets he would catch. 

Now, the races were over, the arena closed down and the slaves sent back to their regular designations. For Anakin, that meant working in the hangars at the spaceport three days a week and tending to the private clients that Jabba or the brothel managers would send to his home. He knew it could be worse; he could be forced to give up the quiet privacy of his home, work permanently in the brothels or palace. 

The sheets of metal that make up his working shed glint in the sunlight beside his sandstone home. The juxtaposition of them is clear; the clean, smooth lines of the pale yellow sandstone compared to the jagged edges of dark blue and black metal, rusting away at the edges and burning hot to the touch. 

His bantha lows when she spots him dismounting the speeder; he doesn’t bother putting it away and moves the fence to greet the massive creature. She lows again as he reaches for her, stroking above her mouth before climbing through the fence to check her water, to make sure nothing had gone wrong with water pumps while he was away. She follows him with her slow gate, probably eager to be fed. He’d left her a large enough bale of hay to last her a week, but she’d proven to be gluttonous often and had more than likely finished it quickly. He finds the troth and pump in fine condition, though a clean wouldn’t go astray.

Elibel lows again, nudging gently at his back, having learned it doesn’t take much to tip him over from the time she’d gotten impatient at feeding time and sent him sprawling across the sand. Spinning around to look at her, he notices damage to an area of fence behind her, damage that came from persistent pressure, as if the bantha had been trying to escape. It wasn't like her; she had always been contented in her paddock and had only ever tried to escape once before in a sandstorm that had frightened her.

He frowns at her, running a hand along her hairy neck, “What spooked you, Elibel?” he asks her, and just as the words fall from his mouth he spots it; there’s a rising smoke in the distance, beyond the sand dunes east of his home. The grey cloud is pale and sparse, quickly fading as it spreads to the blue sky, “I’ll be back,” he tells the bantha and darts back out through the fence and toward the speeder, starting it up and taking off. 

* * *

The ship's silver metal gleams against the Tatooine suns, like a star fallen from the sky. Anakin touches the metal stupidly, gasping at the searing burning sensation on his calloused hands; it would be hot enough to fry an egg. It’s a simple starship, its primary use being transport, and had clearly crash-landed here unintentionally, quite spectacularly. 

Anakin circles the ship until he finds the blast door. It's severely damaged, mangled, and twisted with no hopes of being opened. He knows that the chances of somebody walking away from a crash like this are slim, so he determined to check inside for anyone who might need help. It only takes him a second to think of another way inside the destroyed ship; the cockpit window was smashed in and large enough for him to slip inside. 

The ship's inside is just as damaged, and he feels nerves in his stomach as he looks around. Slipping through the open blast door of the cockpit, he finds a small kitchenette and eating area destroyed by impact; smashed ceramic plates cover the floor, cabinets have fallen from walls and the small oven is a mess of crumpled stainless steel. There’s another blast door, open too, but with a makeshift curtain pulled across it; he can only assume it was to shield the light of the sun that poured in from the cockpit. 

He steps around the mess covering the floor and pulls back the sheet that hid the sleeping quarters. The bedframe had been ripped off the wall from the impact, the mattress now on the floor, a human male sprawled across it. He wears beige pants with a clear urine stain down the front and a brown tunic with matching vomit and bloodstains. He has a single boot worn on his left foot. The man is sickly pale, no colour to his closed lips with sunken eyes and cheekbones. His hair is smeared with blood and greasy with oil and sweat. Anakin could almost choke around the thick lump in his throat at the sight of the man; he appears dead. 

Anakin kneels beside the mattress, and the smell coming from the man is quite rank, different bodily fluids or melded together. Anakin pulls the glove off one of his hands and reaches to the man’s neck, presses his middle and index finger against it; a relieved breath floods from his lungs as he feels a slow, weak beat of a pulse against his fingers. Looking down, he finds that his chest is also slightly rising and falling with soft breaths. 

“Aren’t you a lucky man?” Anakin murmurs and pulls his glove back onto his hand. Briefly looking around the sleeping quarters, he doesn’t see anything of value except for the injured man. After a quick survey of his injuries, he deems it safe to move from his limited knowledge of medical care. He slips one arm under his shoulder blades and the other behind his knees, carefully scooping him up. He carries the man back to the cockpit and rests him on the control board while he climbs back out, then carefully pulls the man into his arms, bringing him to the speeder. 

Despite appearing shorter than Anakin, the man is incredibly heavy, and he’s sweating from the effort and the blistering sun by the time he’s sat on the speeder. He arranged the man to be straddling the seat in front of him, facing him and slumped against his chest with Anakin having used a rope to tie the man’s arms together around his back to help him sit upright. Once sure they’re as secure as possible, he starts the speeder. 

* * *

Elibel bellows loudly when he arrives again, standing right by the fence close to the shed, knowing where her hay is kept. Anakin ignores her, untying the rope and slinging the man over his shoulder as carefully as he can and carries him to the small sandstone house. The door’s locked, and he grunts as he juggles the man’s weight and searches through the pocket of his pants for the keys. He can hear the persistent meowing of Binx behind the door, and he almost trips over the loth cat as he gets the door open and steps inside. 

“I’m sorry, bud, give me a minute,” Anakin huffs, moving through the central area of the house to the cramped staircase that leads to the underground section of the home. Binx yowls and follows him insistently. 

Anakin’s house's underground is a cramped hallway, with two doors on the left leading to two small bedrooms, his own and a spare. It’s cooler underground, which makes it easier to sleep, hence why a lot of Tatooine homes have bedrooms underground. He takes the man to the second room and deposits him on the bed. The space is mostly empty given he lives alone and doesn’t have any use for it; apart from the bed there’s an old dresser and nightstand made of wood that’s falling to pieces and a couple of boxes. 

Binx jumps on the bed to inspect the strange new person in his home, sniffing at his legs as Anakin arranged the man’s neck on the old pillow, Anakin managing to catch the loth cat before it went climbing up his torso. Picking the large creature up, he satisfies him with scratches behind his ear then sets him down again. 

He heads back up the stairs and to the fresher, collecting two buckets from the kitchen on his way. The fresher is small, having a tiny sonic that he can’t stand straight in, a toilet and a sink. The man is filthy, but Anakin knows he won’t be able to get him into the sonic, so a bed bath will have to do. The home has a limited running water supply; he only has two small moisture vaporators, enough to keep Elibel’s water full, flush the toilet, wash his hands, and his hair at the sink when it’s too mucky for the sonic. The rest of his water, bottled, comes from the rations he earns once a week from Jabba. He lifts the first bucket to the sink after squirting soap in it and fills it a third of the way, and the second without soap, a quarter of the way. 

* * *

“That’s much better,” Anakin murmurs after using the bucket with clean water to rinse away the remaining soap and dirtier water from the man’s body, moving him from where he’d had him propped against the wall so he could clean his back to lay down again. Anakin found his worst injuries were his head and ankle; he had a large cut across his forehead, several swollen lumps across his skull, and his ankle had been dislocated, swollen so badly Anakin had to cut away at the leather of his boot to get it off, but he’d popped it back into place now, and it should heal fine. 

He didn’t have a lot of bacta. It came in his rations once a month but more could be purchased from town. He used almost three tubes on the various wounds on the man’s head, prioritised the worst of the cuts and scrapes across his body, and bandaged those that needed it. He knew if the man were to recover properly, he needed a lot more bacta. 

Now, the man had been cleaned up, he appeared younger than Anakin had initially thought, but still at least a decade older than him; his hair now appeared more auburn than brown, and Anakin had been forced to shave off the man’s beard after finding a deep cut under the coarse hairs. It would have probably grown infected if he didn’t properly clean it, apply bacta, and cover, which he could not do while the thick hair resided there. His skin was still worryingly pale, but Anakin hoped that after tending to his head wounds and managing to get him to swallow some water, would cause him to improve. 

The man’s clothes were beyond salvation, so Anakin tossed them into the bucket of dirty water, replacing them with a pair of his loose sleep pants. After leaving a canteen of water on the nightstand, he leaves the man to rest, closing the door to ensure Binx doesn’t go to bother him. 

Later, after feeding Elibel, packing away the things from his speeder, and cleaning himself up, he collapses into his bed and is fast asleep within minutes. 

* * *

When Obi-Wan’s eyes flicker open again, it takes him mere seconds to realise that he’s not staring at the metal roof of a ship but sandstone. He finds the walls and floor are sandstone too when he sits up, with no windows. He’s in a bedroom. 

_Where am I? How did I get here?_

He then becomes aware of weight against his thigh, and he startles with fear when he finds a large feline-like creature curled up there, its chin resting on his hip, beady yellow eyes looking up at him. The fear dissipates as he recognises the animal as a loth cat, harmless, especially if it’s curled up against his thigh. He tentatively reaches down with a bandaged hand and rubs between the creature’s triangular ears. 

“Hello there,” he murmurs, and the loth cat begins to purr deep in its chest. 

Obi-Wan moves his attention from the loth cat to himself; he feels significantly better, not like he was about to die as he'd felt on day four of being at the crash site, the last day he remembered. However, he still feels a significant amount of pain. There's still a full-body ache like he had before, but it’s now bearable and doesn’t have him withering in pain; his head is pounding but not as if it were exploding like it had been when he woke up after the crash. His ankle is a dull throb. He’s shirtless, in pants that when looking down, he finds aren’t his own, and he doesn’t have underwear on either. His mouth is dry. He’s thirsty. 

It’s then he realises there’s a canteen of water on the nightstand, he sits up too quickly, causing his head to spin and his ribs scream but it doesn’t stop him from scrambling for it. He almost whines when the cold liquid reaches his lips, the water on the ship had been compromised and he had gone four days conscious and however many unconscious without water in the blistering heat of this planet. He drinks the whole bottle, but it still doesn’t feel like enough. 

Obi-Wan decides to venture outside of the room, to find whoever brought him here, and being all too aware that he still cannot remember anything about himself beyond his name and his ability with the Force, if whoever it is, has any clue of who he is or where he came from. He tries to ignore the overwhelming panic that arises in him whenever he remembers that he hasn’t _remembered anything._

He finds that the dull throb of his ankle still turns into an intense pain the second he tries to put weight on it, so he’s forced to move in an awkward hobble, holding onto the dresser and then the wall as he slips out the half-open door, probably pushed open by the loth cat, who has taken to trotting ahead of him up the staircase at the end of the hall. 

He’s gasping for breath with a light sheen of sweat covering his skin by the time he reaches the top of the stairs, and he immediately collapses into one of the dining chairs to catch his breath and hope the now-stronger pain settles. He stretches his arms out across the sandstone table and rests his head down on top of them, suddenly exhausted, and whoever his savior is, they’re not in the house. Only when he rests his face on his arms does he realise he no longer has a beard; he frowns as he gently touches the coarse skin with his fingertips. There’s a window above the small stovetop, but he can’t see out it from where he sits, so he supposes he can’t do more than wait and perhaps entertain the loth cat who has now jumped onto the table, rolling all ten kilos of its body mass against his arms in a demand for attention. 

* * *

Anakin is still fuming about the price of bacta as he moves the speeder into the shed. Three weeks of his pay for enough bacta to care for the mystery man’s wounds, because while they had improved in the two days since Anakin had brought him back from the wreckage of his ship, he still hadn’t woken up, and some of the wounds that Anakin initially hadn’t prioritised as needing bacta were beginning to show signs of infection. Three weeks' pay, especially when not being used on himself was significant; when Anakin received his weekly rations from Jabba, among them was a small amount of credits and while he didn’t pay to stay at his home, it was barely enough to live off. 

After locking up the shed and feeding Elibel, he enters the house, freezing when he finds the man he had left passed out in bed two hours ago was resting on his dining table. The man lifts his head when Anakin closes the door, the noise of it waking him from his slumber. Anakin meets his eyes as he rests his bag down on the lounge chair. 

“You’re awake,” Anakin states, “Good timing, chose the one time I left the house…”

The man blinks at him, dazed, looks him up and down once, focusing on Binx, who’s curling around his legs, for a moment before meeting his eyes again, “Where did you go?” he asks. His posh-accented voice fills the home; he definitely doesn’t sound like he’s from Tatooine. Also, he’s definitely still suffering the effects of his head injury, he appears out of it; beneath his accented voice his words are slightly slurred and slow to form.

“You needed more bacta. Some of those cuts are getting infected and I used the last of mine when I first brought you here,” Anakin tells him.

“What’s your name?” the man slurs, making an effort to sit up straighter, wincing as he does so and bracing himself on the edge of the table.

“Anakin Skywalker,” he replies as he pulls a container of bacta from his pack and moves to stand beside the man, “And you? I’ve had you here for two days without knowing your name.”

The man is quiet for several moments, staring down at where his hands rest on the table, “My name is Obi-Wan,” he finally says, “That’s all I know.”

Anakin unscrews the bacta lid, turning Obi-Wan in his chair so Anakin can reach the top of his left bicep, “What do you mean that’s all you know?”

“I woke up from the crash and couldn’t remember anything but my name… still can’t.” 

Anakin’s fingers freeze where he’s spreading bacta over the slightly pussy cut on Obi-Wan’s freckled bicep. So, the man doesn’t remember anything, or so he says, he could be lying to Anakin about his lack of identity. He mentions as such. 

Obi-Wan shakes his head, “No. I’m not lying to you. I have no memory of who I am, where I came from, what planet this is. Nothing," he replies, and his attempts to hide the fear in voice fail; Anakin can hear the slight quiver in his voice, the desperation, and the fear of the unknown that he had suddenly been cast into. 

Anakin collects more bacta on his fingertips and moves to the gash below the man’s right peck, bracing one hand on his shoulder, urging him to sit straight, “This is Tatooine. Does that ring a bell?” 

“Outer rim?” 

“Yeah,” Anakin replies, “Language?”

“A few. Galactic Basic and Huttese being superior?” 

Anakin nods, “Yeah, good. You can remember some things.” 

“In most cases of amnesia one forgets their memories, not necessarily their knowledge. I sat in that ship for four days, trying to remember anything about myself,” Obi-Wan tells him. He sounds exhausted and Anakin decides he needs to get the bacta on him and a meal in his stomach as soon as possible so he can rest.

“If it helps at all, you’re not from here. Your accent is way too posh for a place like this. Probably a core world…” 

Obi-Wan hums, and they fall into silence while Anakin soothes bacta into his wounds, which Anakin can forgive given the man looks just minutes away from passing out against the dining table. Anakin gently tips back the man’s head and tilts his jaw to the side to add more bacta to the cut along his jaw. It had gotten better since he’d treated it with a significant amount of bacta that first day, but he figured more couldn’t hurt. 

“I’m sorry about the beard, by the way, I had to be able to get to this cut,” Anakin apologises, but Obi-Wan doesn’t reply, swaying slightly in the seat. Anakin finishes up, closing the lid on the bacta and setting it down on the table, “You need to eat something before resting, it will help you heal. You haven’t had anything to eat in I don’t even know how long.”

Obi-Wan answers by sprawling across the tabletop, similar to how he had been when Anakin had found him about twenty minutes ago now. Anakin leaves him be and moves into the kitchen to whip up a quick stew.

In the distance the starship glints in the sunlight, a commlink buzzes in the sand for a final time before giving in the blistering heat of the Tatooine suns.


	2. Chapter 2

“Time to get up.”

Obi-Wan’s head lolls to the side to look at the young man who’d just entered the small bedroom. He remembers him from what he assumes was the previous day, he does feel as if he only slept through the night, not for days like the young man had told him he had been. Yesterday remained fuzzy in his memory, like he had been half asleep the whole time. He remembers trudging upstairs, and the man who was now helping him sit up right, soothing bacta into his skin. He remembers telling him that he knew nothing but his own name, and purposely avoiding mentioning his force abilities; some distance instinct telling him it may not be safe to disclose to a stranger. He didn’t sense the man that was force sensitive.

Obi-Wan groans when he’s sat upright, “Ouch,” he murmurs, bracing himself on his palms.

“You alright?”

Obi-Wan nods, lifting his head to look at the younger man, “Yes,” he replies as he looks at him. He’s barefoot with loose pants and a faded tunic, blonde curls in a mullet-like style. Though he knows for certain that this is the man he was with yesterday, he cannot remember his name, “I’m sorry, what’s your name again?”

“It’s okay, your memory will probably be touchy while you recover. You might struggle to retain new information, you know?” he says, “Anyway, my name is Anakin.”

Obi-Wan nods and allows Anakin to help him stand, “Yes, I remember now. Anakin Skywalker?”

“Yep, and you’re Obi-Wan. Can you think of your last name?”

Obi-Wan swallows and shakes his head, “No… we’re on Tatooine?”

Anakin allows Obi-Wan to brace his weight on him as they begin to move through the house, “Yeah, good. Hopefully now you’re recovering from your injuries you might be able to regain some memories.”

“I hope so, not knowing who you are is a very unsettling feeling.”

Anakin hums, helping him sit down in a dining chair, “You’re a lot more alert than yesterday. That second round of bacta combined with a meal and night’s rest has done you a lot of good.” He tells him, moving to the small stove and stirring something.

“I might still be susceptible to infection,” Obi-Wan says, feeling a familiar rubbing against his legs and finds the loth cat looking up at him, it’s golden-yellow fur sticking to the material of his clothes.

“Binx, leave him alone,” Anakin scolds as he places a bowl of paste-like porridge in front of him, and another on the other side of the table, gentling nudging the cat away with his bare foot.

“No, he’s no problem. My legs are fine, and he’s not near my bad ankle,” Obi-Wan says, “So, Binx, huh? I’ve been wondering the name of my bed mate.”

“Bed mate?”

Binx stops nudging and moves to jump on the large windowsill that’s sits to the left of the dining area, Obi-Wan can see a fence in the sand out it, “When I woke yesterday, he’d let himself into my room.”

Anakin huffs, shaking his head while fondly looking over at the loth cat, and then motions to Obi-Wan’s bowl, “Eat. It’s better than it looks, I added honey and cinnamon to it.”

Obi-Wan quickly reaches for his spoon, not wanting to appear rude and shoves some porridge into his mouth, raising his eyebrows at the younger man as he swallows; he’s right, the porridge is surprisingly tasty despite its paste-like consistency, “This is good.”

Anakin smiles, and Obi-Wan notices his cheeks pinken slightly as he pauses from wolfing down his breakfast, “The porridge comes in my rations, and it’s pretty unpleasant without the extra flavour. You can get some good deals in the markets at Mos Espa.”

Obi-Wan’s curious at the mention of rations, and then his eyes widen slightly as he suddenly recalls that slavery is extremely prominent on Tatooine, and some slaves lived off weekly rations.

“Remember something?” Anakin asks him, having noticed Obi-Wan’s behaviour and looked hopeful.

Obi-Wan pauses, and then sighs, “Just Tatooine’s booming slave culture.” He murmurs, suddenly unable to meet the man’s gaze.

It’s silent for almost a full minute, just the sound of Anakin’s spoon scraping against his bowl as he plays with his food, “Yeah, I’m a slave if that’s what you want to know.”

Obi-Wan tries to push down the anger that he feels surge inside him, deep in his chest, and he sucks in a deep breath, “If you’re in any danger by having me here, I will leave immediately,” he eventually replies.

“No, it’s fine. I can have whoever I like here as long as it doesn’t disrupt me from doing my duties,” he replies after another mouthful of porridge, “I earned the privilege to live out here on my own. Though it’s Jabba’s home technically, not mine because I don’t pay for it. I work to be able to stay out here and earn my weekly rations.”

“Jabba the Hutt? The crime Lord?” Obi-Wan asks, the name incredibly familiar to him, “He’s your Master?”

Anakin nods, “How do know him?” he asks, and continues when Obi-Wan shakes his head to signal he doesn’t know, “The reason it took me four days to find you was because I had been working in Mos Espa for the past week, there was some major pod racing events that brought a lot more clients here, so Jabba needed all hands on deck to keep everyone happy and not concerning themselves with what he was doing. I suspect he was smuggling spices or more slaves from illegal planets, the races just being a front.”

Obi-Wan’s hands clench around the edge of the table, Anakin’s explanation confirming that he was a pleasure slave without directly stating it. He looks at Anakin, a man who had gone out of his way to save and care for him, was being abused in one of the worst ways.

“Anakin, I’m sorr-“ Obi-Wan begins but is quickly cut off by Anakin’s stern voice. 

“Don’t. Do not apologise for something you are not responsible for; it won’t change anything.” He says, his bright blue eyes piercing into his own, and when Obi-Wan nods, says, “Good. Now keep eating, you need to keep your strength up if you’re going to recover.”

“Okay,” Obi-Wan obeys and picks his spoon back up. The porridge isn’t as hot anymore, but it’s still tasty.

“I saw the smoke almost as soon as I got back, went after it straight away,” Anakin tells him, continuing to eat as well, “I brought you back here, used what bacta I’d saved from my rations, which wasn’t much, cleaned you up and put you in bed. You were asleep for two days before I found you at the table. I suspect you would have died if I’d been a day later.”

“It occurs to me that I never thanked you,” Obi-Wan murmurs, suddenly feeling horribly guilty.

“It’s fine, you were still pretty out of it yesterday,” Anakin replies, smirking slightly.

“Nevertheless, I am incredibly grateful for what you’ve done for me, Anakin. Once I’ve gotten some strength back, I promise I’ll be out of your way, I’ll head into town.”

Anakin frowns at him and swallows a final mouthful of porridge, his spoon clattering as he drops it into the bowl, “No. You have no memory of who you are, what kind of danger you could be in. Mos Espa can be a dangerous place, especially if there’s someone who wants you gone. You can stay here while you recover, until you get your memories back.”

Obi-Wan stares at him as he feels a lump forming in his throat and a burning in his eyes, “What if they don’t come back?” he asks softly, “It’s been over a week since I crash landed here, and all I can remember about myself is my name.”

“Obi-Wan you were incredibly sick that whole time, like I said now you’re recovering it might change.”

Obi-Wan sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair as he forgoes the rest of his oatmeal, “I really hope you’re right, Anakin.”

“I will be okay, Obi-Wan,” he assures him as he stands and circles the table to help Obi-Wan up, “Now I want you to have a sonic, I cleaned you as best I could in bed, but a sonic will be sure to get anything off your skin that can get into your wounds and cause infection. Then you need some more bacta.”

Obi-Wan goes willingly as Anakin leads him into the fresher, suddenly aware of an insistent need to relieve himself. Anakin sits him down on the toilet lid while he reaches into a cupboard above the sink to pull a towel of a shelf, sitting it on the sandstone beside the sink and then opening the drawer, pulling out a toothbrush.

“That should be all you need. I have some things to do outside but call if you need any help. Your clothes will be fine to wear again, I don’t have enough water to wash them every day, they’ll be fine for a few more days.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan murmurs as Anakin leaves the fresher and closes the door behind him.

Obi-Wan quickly stands up and proceeds to relieve himself before removing his pants and tunic; he does so carefully, his ribs still incredibly tender at sudden or sharp movements and getting his pants off is a difficult task when his ankle still can’t bear any weight. He should have asked Anakin to help him before he left, but he manages, just slowly. He reaches for the toothbrush and paste, eager to remove to tangy sour taste from his mouth when he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He’d caught a few glimpses of his appearance in the metal of the ship but hadn’t had a chance to properly look at himself, and he realises his own appearance was something he’d forgotten. He doesn’t find anything astonishing about his face, he just looks like a normal man. He finds he appears to be in thirties, probably late, with auburn hair and probably a matching beard if Anakin hadn’t shaved it off but stubble was already beginning to grow. He pokes at his nose and stares into the reflection of his own bright blue eyes. He stays there for several minutes, almost as if he’s in a trance before he remembers Anakin’s instructions to take a sonic.

* * *

Anakin sweats as he searches through the storage containers in his shed, it’s always almost unbearably hot in here, and the ceiling fan is currently broken and he hasn’t had the time to fix it. His mind swims with concern for Obi-Wan, he had hoped that the man would remember more about himself now that he wasn’t as somnolent as he had been when he first woke up, but still all his guest could remember was the knowledge he had acquired before the crash but still none of his own memories. It was concerning, but he continued to remind himself that it was only day two, and Obi-Wan was still weak.

When Obi-Wan suggested returning to Mos Espa once he’d regained some strength, Anakin had immediately felt unsettled by the idea. Sending a man who remembered nothing about himself into a town full of criminals alone, seemed like a terrible idea. The man had a reason for coming to Tatooine after all, he may have had business here, could have even been a bounty hunter, or like many who came here, trying to hide from someone or something. Anakin is suddenly hit by the idea of what if Obi-Wan himself is dangerous, he just doesn’t remember that he is. Anakin decides it’s a problem for another day, right now Obi-Wan’s recovery is more important.

He curses himself for not labelling the containers, but then finds what he’s looking for; a collection of clothes left behind by whoever stayed in the house before he’d did. He’s grateful to his past self for keeping them just in case, because now he had Obi-Wan who was shorter and stockier than himself, and none of Anakin’s clothes fit him correctly. He looks through the clothes and finds that they seem to be Obi-Wan’s size, or similar to it, so he collects the container and carries it back into the house. He’s just sat the container on the small coffee table when he hears a thud followed by a curse coming from the ‘fresher. He darts over and shoves the door open, met the sight of a naked Obi-Wan on his ass, clearly haven fallen when stepping out of the sonic.

“Shit, are you okay?!” Anakin hisses as he crouches down in front of him.

“My ankle gave out,” Obi-Wan groans and accepts Anakin’s help, leaning against him and hissing in pain when he tried to put weight on his ankle.

“Did you hit your head or hurt anything else?” Anakin asks as he leads him out of the bathroom so he can sit him on the lounge.

“Just my dignity,” Obi-Wan mumbles as he’s deposited on the small lounge, resting his hands over his crotch and looking up at him with a raised eyebrow, “Can I have my clothes?”

Anakin chuckles, “I’ve seen you naked before, it’s not really a big deal,” he calls as he goes to collect Obi-Wan’s clothes from the ‘fresher.

“When?” Obi-Wan asks, sounding slightly scandalised.

“I cleaned you remember?” Anakin huffs handing Obi-Wan his clothes and turning his back to him so he can privacy, despite the temptation he feels to look, “You were a mess when I brought you back, covered in bodily fluids and such. I needed to try and stop infection.” He explains.

“Oh,” Obi-Wan huffs and Anakin can hear the awkward shuffling and grunting as he pulls his pants up his legs, “You can turn now.”

Anakin does so and helps Obi-Wan pull the tunic on, knowing he can’t do it himself with his damaged ribs. On cue, the older man lets out a gasp of pain when Anakin pulls his arm through the sleeve, “I’m sorry,” Anakin murmurs, resting him against the back of the lounge, “I tried to get you pain killers, I could tell from the bruising they’d be broken, but they like to raise the price of medical stuff around here because people will still buy it if they’re desperate enough. I didn’t have enough credits to get the painkillers and the amount of bacta I knew you’d need, the bacta is more important.”

“It’s fine, they’ll settle down eventually. We just need to be gentle,” Obi-Wan says, his forehead glistening with a slight sheen of sweat, “I’ll repay you somehow for spending your credits on me,”

Anakin shrugs, smiling and reaching down to pick up Binx when the creature sits at his feet and yowls up at him, huffing slightly at the loth cat’s significant weight as he sprawls against his chest, “This guy’s pretty needy, you can keep him company when I have to go into the hangars.”

“Why do you need to go the hangars?” Obi-Wan asks.

“I work there.”

“I thought…” Obi-Wan trials off, like he thought better of the words on his tongue.

“That I was just a pleasure slave?” Anakin asks, and Obi-Wan nods and Anakin sees his throat bob when he swallows, “Nah, Jabba likes to use everyone to the full extent of their abilities, I’m good with ships and mechanics. I’m in the hangers three days a week, and have private clients sent to me here from Jabba or the brothel managers, usually the type of people who don’t like to admit they take advantage of slavery, or simply just want more privacy. I also get called to the brothels or palace whenever I’m needed. I’m a man of many talents, Obi-Wan.”

“I see,” Obi-Wan murmurs, and just like he had that morning, appeared uncomfortable at Anakin speaking of his work as a slave. Anakin understands, it’s not a topic a lot of people talk about easily, unless they're slaves themselves. Anakin and his fellow workers often conversed about their clients, having desensitised to the whole ordeal of slavery.

“I’ll be back at the hangars tomorrow, so you’ll have to entertain yourself in the days. The old holovision works, or I’ve got plenty of books.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan murmurs, shifting slightly to get more comfortable on the couch.

Anakin moves back to the container of clothes he’d collected from the shed, picking it up, “These were left here from whoever lived here before me. They look like they should fit you okay,” He tells him and proceeds to take the container down to Obi-Wan’s room.

When Anakin comes back, Binx has joined Obi-Wan on the chair and is curled up in his lap, “Has he always been so affectionate?” Obi-Wan asks fondly as he rubs behind the loth cat’s ears.

“Ha, yes. I’ve had him since he was a kitten, I found him back when I lived above the brothel, hid him under by bed for three weeks until I got to come out here,” he replies, “Now sit up again and I’ll give you another coat of bacta.”

Obi-Wan nods and holds his hands out for Anakin, who grabs them and helps him sit straighter again, “Do I look any better than when you found me?”

“Yes,” Anakin answers immediately, uncapping the lid on the bottle of bacta he’d left on the coffee table, “I thought you were dead when I found you. You definitely look better, your smaller wounds are healing,” he says, and gently begins to spread the bacta over the bumps and splits on Obi-Wan’s head under his hair, “The bumps here are definitely going down too. Your ankle just needs rest now I’ve popped it back in, your memories and ribs are going to cause the most grief, I think.”

Obi-Wan nods, “I agree, I think. My ribs are still incredibly painful, but the rest of my body is sensitive depending on how it’s touched, my ankle feels okay until I put weight on it.”

“What about your head?” Anakin asks as he applies bacta to the gash on the older man’s jaw, all signs of infection having vanished overnight.

“It doesn’t feel like I have a severe migraine anymore, it just aches, but I’m yet to remember anything more.”

Anakin sighs, moves around the lounge to reach Obi-Wan’s back, the anxiety in the man’s voice fills Anakin with dread. They’re silent for the next ten minutes while Anakin covers him in bacta, Obi-Wan’s eyes fluttering closed at the sensation on his skin and looking moments away from sleep when Anakin helped him rest back against the lounge.

“Will you be alright if I head back out to the shed? I’m going to make you a cane to help you walk,” he murmurs, not wanting to disturb him, “I think you should have a rest.”

Obi-Wan nods, not opening his eyes and Anakin squeezes his shoulder before heading back to the shed, Binx having joined him to go run around in the sand and perch on the fence to watch Elibel with fascination. As Anakin’s hands work on fashioning a handle, his mind calms, and then blanks, all thoughts of Obi-Wan and who he is, where he came from fade away as he focuses only on the task in front of him.

* * *

Obi-Wan is surprised by his own weakness, he’d barely done anything before his legs felt weak and a glistening of sweat had broken out across his skin and he was hit with the unyielding need to rest. He’d been upstairs, testing out the cane Anakin had made him once he’d grown bored with the book Anakin had left him before he’d gone to the hangars when he decided he needed to lay down. So, he’d made his way downstairs slowly, intent on going to his room and having a nap. However, reaching Anakin’s room and finding the door half open, it was just far too tempting for his weak mind to push the door open all the way and look inside.

The room is the same size as his own, just more lived in; there’s knick knacks spread across the room and several droid parts, the bed is unmade and an absolute mess with unmatching blankets and the fitted sheet almost being pulled off the mattress. He glimpses at the nightstand before looking away with a redness to his cheeks, not wanting to think about the use of the lube and condoms on the nightstand. Obi-Wan’s eyes fall on the small picture hung on the wall, in a handmade frame and on simple paper is a led pencil-drawn picture of an older woman; the corner of her lip is pulled up in a half smile half smirk that looks so much like Anakin’s, Obi-Wan is quickly confident in assuming her to be Anakin’s mother. Obi-Wan had assumed that Anakin didn’t have any family as he hadn’t mentioned as much, and he doubted the woman was alive.

Suddenly recognising how much he was intruding, Obi-Wan quickly moves away and continues to his own bedroom. He closes the door behind him, because as much as he adores Binx, the cat can demand attention and keep him up at times when he’s trying to sleep. He lies down on the bed, pulling a loose sheet over his body and closing his eyes, attempting to succumb to his exhaustion.

* * *

It’s just turned dark when Anakin returns home, and he finds the house quiet and dark with no sign of Obi-Wan anywhere. Anakin kicks off his boots and goes to unbutton the top of his work jumpsuit before remembering his collar and thinking better of it. Binx finds him then, appearing from downstairs and meowing in greeting as he rubs against Anakin’s legs, and Anakin gives him a quick cuddle before heading downstairs to check on Obi-Wan.

He opens the bedroom door and peeks his head inside, the room is dark, the small bulb-light that hangs from the ceiling having been turned off. Obi-Wan, is curled up in the bed, the sheet pulled up to just below his neck and his eyes pressed closed. Anakin could leave the older man to sleep but given that he hasn’t seen the man all day and it’s around dinner time, Anakin decides to wake him. He sits down on the mattress beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder and saying his name.

Obi-Wan’s eyes open and he looks confused for a moment before his eyes settle on Anakin, “Oh, hello,” he mumbles, his voice gravely with sleep and Anakin helps him to sit up, “How was work?”

“Not too bad, a bit of a slow day,” Anakin replies as they stand, “You need to eat something and then I’ll bring you back down to bed,” he explains his reasons for waking the other man, as he seemed too half-asleep to ask. Once upstairs, Anakin sits him down on the couch, smooths the messy auburn hair away from his face when it falls into his eyes. He smiles softly when Obi-Wan nudges against his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed this chapter my friends :) pls come & talk to me @iiloulouii if you want x

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading x  
> Hit me up at my tumblr iiloulouii - ask me about this fic or whatever.


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